


Cyrano de Nesmith

by Madame (McKay)



Series: The Monkees Soap Opera [2]
Category: The Monkees (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 18:47:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10814640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McKay/pseuds/Madame
Summary: The first Monkees fanfic story I wrote; it introduces my OFC, Isabel Evans, and sets up the premise for the series. Peter and Mike both fall for their new next-door neighbor.This story is intended to take place in the apocryphal third season of The Monkees' TV show; it's written in script format complete with "music video sequences," romps, and a special guest appearance by Mr. Schneider. There's romance—I'm a victim of the Mike Mystique, so whaddya expect?—but no sex, and I tried to recreate the characters as portrayed in the episodes as accurately as possible. It helps if you try to hear their voices in your head when you read the dialogue.Oh, and one last thing. Included are some really bad jokes that I just couldn't resist, so please don't hit.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in 1997.

Act One. Scene One: Exterior. Outside 1334 Beechwood. To the right, we see Peter strolling down the sidewalk, carrying a sack of groceries and humming. As the camera pans to follow his path, off to the left we see a car with its trunk open and the shapely lower half of a girl's body visible, the rest obscured as she leans in to reach a box in the back; she's wearing cut-off denim shorts and a tee shirt since she doesn't want to get any "nice" clothes messed up during the move. Around her in the street and on the sidewalk are several cardboard boxes and pieces of luggage in various sizes which she has already unloaded by herself. There is also a moving van parked in front of the car; the rear door is up, revealing furniture—sofa, table, chairs, etc. Naturally Peter comes up behind her, prepared to be friendly.

 

Peter (smiling and shifting his sack to rest in the crook of one arm): Hi!

Startled, the girl springs up, almost knocking her head on the trunk lid. She whirls around to face Peter, and we see her straight-on for the first time. She is petite young woman, aged 18, with long, dark brown hair swept up in a ponytail. Peter gets those tell-tale stars in his eyes, and the bag of groceries slips from his suddenly limp arms as he gapes at her like a moon-struck calf.

Isabel (regarding the fallen groceries with an alarmed look): Hello.

She smiles uncertainly—he did just walk up to her and literally drop everything after all—and he is totally gone. Fantasy sequence ensues: Peter floating on pink cotton ball cloud, animated hearts bursting around his head as he stares at her, a goofily besotted expression on his face; there is romantic violin music in the background.

Isabel (extending her hand): I'm Isabel Evans.

No response. She drops her hand and begins to stare back at him, but with an expression of concern rather than infatuation. Abruptly Peter realizes he's been addressed.

Peter: I'm Peter Tork. (Awkward pause; she gives him an "oh, that's nice" nod, clearly eager to get back to work.) Are you moving in nearby?

Isabel: Right there.

She indicates a tiny, one-story ramshackle building-as run-down as it is, it must be owned by Mr. Babbit-directly behind them, and Peter's delight is visible.

Peter: Really? That's right next door to where I live! Well, me and my three roommates. We're The Monkees.

Isabel: The Monkees...?

Peter: We're a rock group, but you shouldn't have heard of us.

Isabel (relieved that she hasn't inadvertently snubbed someone famous): Oh, I see.

Peter (he's slow, but he gets there eventually): Hey, d'you want a hand with your stuff? I could get the guys. We'll help you move in.

Isabel (grateful and relieved): Would you? I'd really appreciate it. The mover decided to go to lunch right after we got here, and that was over an hour ago.

Peter (delighted and anxious to please): Sure! Wait here—we'll be right back.

He gathers up the remains of the groceries and scampers off, leaving Isabel by the curb. She shakes her head and chuckles quietly; she's amused by this overeager young man, but she's not infatuated—there are no stars in her eyes.

 

Roll opening credits: "Hey, Hey, we're the Monkees..." with brand-new third season visuals! Of course, you'll have to imagine them for yourselves, but they're really cool nonetheless.

~*~*~

Scene Two: Interior. The living room. Micky, Davy and Mike are sprawled around the room engaged in various individual activities. Davy is polishing his maracas; Micky is lounging on the couch reading a magazine; Mike is toying with a loose string on his hat, tugging at it experimentally. Peter bursts through the door, slams it shut behind him and leans against it, beaming at the guys, who all glance up at his rather dramatic and noisy entrance.

Peter: There's a girl—

The others lose interest and return to what they were doing. They know how hopeless Peter is when it comes to the ladies. Mike pulls the string, and like a magician's scarf, it keeps on going; he doesn't initially notice the entire hat is unraveling, thus he keeps pulling, determined to find the end of it.

Micky, Davy and Mike (in unison with profound disinterest): Oh.

Peter: No, no—she needs our help. She's moving into the house next door.

Micky, Davy and Mike (in unison and much livelier): Oh!

Micky (bouncing to his feet and striking a superhero pose, Monkee Man costume optional): A damsel in distress? Why didn't you say so in the first place?

Peter (bewildered): I did say so....

Davy rises next, obviously intrigued—we're talking about a girl here—and he and Micky head for the door, ready to follow Peter; we pan over to Mike, who is still standing where he was, a look of dismay on his face; Mike's hat is nothing more than a pile of string at his feet. He stays put, regarding the unraveled string like it was a personal affront, and when the other boys realize he's not coming, they turn back, poised at the door.

Peter: Aren't you coming, Mike?

Mike whips out a pair of knitting needles.

Mike: I'll be there in a minute. I gotta fix my hat.

As he begins to knit in double-speed, his brow furrowed in concentration, the other three stand in the door and watch for a moment, amazed by the speed and dexterity their friend is exhibiting.

Peter (off-hand comment): I didn't know he could knit.

Micky (it's so obvious): Where d'you think he got the hats? Woolworth's?

Peter (the wheels slowly turn): ....Oh....

They hustle out the door, slamming it unceremoniously behind them; we pan briefly back to Mike still knitting in double-time before we cut to....

~*~*~

Scene Three: Exterior. In the street outside their respective houses. Isabel has been patiently waiting for her knights in tarnished armor; the same number of boxes are piled by the curb, and the trunk is still open, revealing a few more pieces of luggage inside. Peter bounds up to her, radiating puppy-dog enthusiasm. Micky and Davy stroll along behind him, surreptitiously checking out the new arrival.

Peter: Isabel, these are my friends, Micky Dolenz—

He gestures to Micky, who moves forward to shake the hand Isabel politely offers and to exchange hello's. Again, no stars from her. Micky also remains unaffected.

Peter: And Davy Jones.

There is a moment of palpable tension. Peter knows that girls always fall for Davy, and he's concerned that the same thing is going to happen this time as well. But Isabel and Davy shake hands, say "hi" and step away from each other without immediately flinging themselves headlong into the throes of new young love as Davy is so often inclined to do; she smiles warmly, but with no more or less friendliness than she offered Peter or Micky. Peter is visibly relieved, passing his hand across his brow in a "whew!" gesture.

Isabel: I thought you said you have three room-mates...?

Peter: Oh, yeah—Mike. He'll be out in a minute. He'll be the tall guy with the wool hat; you can't miss him.

Isabel (thought balloon; she turns to the camera with a quizzical look): Wool hat??

She shrugs and turns to help Peter gather packages, concentrating on the job before her rather than on any of the boys.

Micky (whispering to Davy, looking confused): Hey, man, what's up?

Peter tries to show off by loading his arms up with several awkward pieces of luggage while this next exchange occurs; he is of course doomed to failure. The bulky pieces slip and tumble from his arms repeatedly. Isabel tries to convince him not to carry so many, but he is determined to impress her with his manly strength and agility. Micky and Davy stand to one side, watching with folded arms and bemused expressions as Peter unsuccessfully wrestles with the boxes and luggage. Isabel eventually gives up and covers her face with one hand, shaking her head slowly.

Davy (also whispering, not looking at Micky because he's too busy watching Peter): What d'you mean?

Micky: You and the chick, man—isn't she supposed to fall for you? I mean, isn't that in your contract or something?

Davy: Didn't you read the script? I got the week off.

Micky (even more bewildered now): But it can't be Peter—he promised he'd lay off romance until the fourth season if we let him get Julie Newmar, remember?

Davy: Yeah, man, I know. It's not Peter either.

Micky (loudly): Well, it's certainly not me! (Davy hushs him; he continues more quietly) At least, I don't think it's me. It's not me....Is it me?

Davy shakes his head, absorbed in the slapstick scene being enacted before them; wordlessly, he pulls a blue-covered script from his back pocket, flips it open to the right page and passes it to Micky, who pores over it silently for a moment.

Micky (torn between shock and laughter): Is this for real?!

Davy (hushing him impatiently): Quiet down, will you? We're not supposed to know yet, so don't blow it for the audience, all right?

Micky (giggling helplessly): Yeah, but—

Davy (annoyed now): Look, just shut up and get into character, man. And don't laugh—you knew it had to happen sometime.

Providing a noble example, Davy plunges into the scene, lunging for a box teetering precariously on top of Peter's load before it can hit the ground. That settled, he gathers up a reasonable load for himself. Micky, still snickering quietly, follows Davy's lead, but as he precedes them into the building, he can't stop muttering under his breath and then laughing. Isabel stares after him, confused and slightly alarmed. Has she fallen into a den of long-haired weirdoes?

Isabel (with obvious concern): Is your friend okay?

Davy (managing a shrug as best he can with the boxes in his arms): Yeah, his hair's curled too tight, that's all.

Isabel (not even bothering to pretend she understands): Oh....

Between them, they manage to get Peter in her house with neither bones nor packages broken. We cut to...

~*~*~

Scene Four: Interior. In the narrow, cramped entrance hall of Isabel's new place. The interior of the place is as appropriately shabby as the exterior, but Isabel seems excited. This is her first place of her own, and she feels her new freedom and responsibility to the fullest. She holds the door open for Micky, Peter and Davy who have dumped their respective loads—perhaps we can see a growing pile of luggage and boxes in her living room—and are filing back out.

Isabel (smiling): I really appreciate this.

Peter (stopping to moon over Isabel): Oh, it's my pleasure.

Micky and Davy roll their eyes, grab Peter on either side and haul him off as he gazes longingly at her over his shoulder.

Peter: I'll be right back!

Isabel stands in the doorway a moment, watching them go with a slight smile on her face. She's not oblivious to Peter's reaction; she simply doesn't want to encourage it. She bends over to prop the door open with a small box, then turns to follow them out—and collides with Mike who, hat repaired and in place, has correctly assumed she's the girl they're supposed to be helping out.

Isabel (startled): Oh!

Off-balance, she instinctively reaches out and clutches his arms to keep herself upright; just as instinctively, Mike reaches out and catches her arms to steady her. She looks up—she has to; he's quite a bit taller than she is—and begins to gape unabashedly at him. Finally we see the stars shining in her dark brown eyes; she opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

Mike: Gosh, I'm sorry—

He looks at her—really looks at her—and suddenly stars are twinkling in his eyes as well. They stare at each other, transfixed until a loud noise from the street—a crashing sound followed by both Davy and Micky yelling, "Peter!"—breaks their trance, and they jump away from each other, flustered and flushed.

Isabel (shyly): You must be Peter's other room-mate.

Mike (clearing throat uneasily; this is the girl Peter was in raptures about, and now he's attracted to her, and it makes him uncomfortable): Yeah, I'm Mike Nesmith.

Isabel (still fixed on him; she's not experiencing any conflict where this attraction is concerned): I'm Isabel Evans. Your new neighbor.

Mike (his voice cracking a little): Yeah, I heard about that. (An awkward pause ensues. Isabel doesn't move or look away from him. Mike grows increasingly fidgety under her intense scrutiny) Well, I guess I better go out there and help.

Isabel (reluctantly): I suppose so.

Mike quickly steps to the left to get out of her way; inadvertently Isabel moves right to get out of his way and steps directly into it. He moves right; she moves left. It's a spontaneous dodge-dance, and Isabel starts laughing after about the third pass. Exasperated, Mikes reaches out, catches her around the waist, picks her up and moves her bodily out of the doorway. Surprised but hardly displeased, Isabel loops her arms around his neck and enjoys the ride while it lasts. Disappointment shows on her face when he hurries away.

Mike (muttering): I really wish I hadn't done that....

~*~*~

Scene Five: Interior. The boys' living room. They open the front door and traipse in, looking tired and disheveled but pleased with themselves and their good deed. Micky and Davy slog to the first available space—Davy the couch and Micky the nearest chair—and collapse; Peter remains standing by the door in a state of blissful tranquillity; Mike goes to sit by himself near the window and proceeds to study the floor as if it held the secrets of the universe. Obviously spending the afternoon in Isabel's company has done nothing to decrease his attraction to her-nor Peter's. He's in a funk because he doesn't know what to do. Should he try to cut Peter out? Or should he just stay out of his friend's way?

Peter (rapturous sigh): Isn't she the nicest girl you ever met?

Micky (tired groan; he sits sprawled in the chair, his legs out-stretched in front of him, his arms draped over the sides of the chair, his chin drooping against his chest): Yeah, nicest.

Peter: Hasn't she got the prettiest eyes?

Davy (stretched out full-length on the couch with a magazine over his face; he lifts the magazine just enough so he can reply): Yeah, prettiest.

Peter (still swooning): Hasn't she got the cutest smile?

It's Mike's turn, but he's still staring at the floor, lost in his own morose thoughts and misses his cue. He realizes with a start that the others have turned to look at him questioningly—Micky and Davy even sit upright—and he's puzzled for a moment at suddenly being the center of attention, then it dawns on him.

Mike (without enthusiasm): Wha-? Oh. Yeah. Cutest.

Satisfied, Micky and Davy collapse into their former positions again, and Peter floats around the room in a romantic daze. Mike turns away again to brood, this time turning his gaze outward at the ocean.

Times passes....

Out the window we can see the sun setting over the ocean, and the boys have changed positions. Peter, Davy and Micky are at the kitchen table playing cards while Mike still sits off by himself, this time quietly playing guitar, perhaps "You Just May Be the One." A knock on the door interrupts their peaceful scene, and Micky bounds over to answer it; a knowing smile crosses his face as he opens the little safety window to see who is there. He flings the door open with a bow and a flourish.

Micky (announcing loudly for Peter's benefit): Hey, Isabel!

Peter immediately reacts, literally dropping everything and knocking his chair over in his haste to reach her.

Isabel (shy; scanning the room for Mike and trying to be unobtrusive about it): Hi, Micky. I hope you don't me dropping by—

Micky (waving away any such thoughts): Of course not. C'mon in.

She steps over the threshold; Peter is waiting to greet her, smiling broadly. Davy stands up and acknowledges her presence with a friendly wave or word of welcome. Mike carefully puts his guitar aside and sits quietly watching the unfolding scene, a somber expression on his face.

Isabel (addressing all of them): I can't tell you how grateful I am for your help this afternoon—

Peter (eager to reassure): Oh, it was nothing.

Micky (rubbing his shoulders and upper arms with an exaggerated wince): I wouldn't go that far—

Peter elbows him sharply and gives him a reproachful look.

Micky: Don't do that.

But Micky retreats, mock-wounded by Peter's treatment of him.

Isabel (continuing): The least I can do is invite you all over for dinner. I made spaghetti and garlic bread. Would that be all right?

FREE FOOD!! Before she realizes what's hit her, Peter, Davy and Micky have converged on her and are sweeping her out the door and across the yard, all three babbling their thanks and assurances that spaghetti and garlic bread would be quite all right with them. Mike stands up as if he's about to follow, then a shadow crosses his face and he sits down again. A moment later, the door opens and Davy pokes his head in.

Davy: Hey, aren't you coming? The spaghetti smells fantastic, man!

Mike (shaking his head): No, I'm not all that hungry. I think I'll just stay here.

Davy gives him a dubious "you're turning down free home-cooked food?" look.

Mike: I'm really wiped out, man. I think I'm gonna turn in.

Davy (with a "whatever" shrug): Okay, if you say so. Catch you later.

Mike waits until the door has closed behind Davy, then he gets up and crosses over to Mr. Schneider.

Mike: Well, now what? I know what a hard time Peter has with girls. If Isabel really likes him, I don't have a chance anyway, but I don't know that for sure. And I like her too. Should I ask her out or clear the way for Peter?

He reaches down and pulls the string, and Mr. Schneider's tinny voice offers sage advice.

Mr. Schneider: It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

Mike (rolling eyes heavenward with a typical Mike grimace): Well, that's comforting!

Disgusted, he returns to the window and picks up his guitar again, preparing to soothe his troubled thoughts with music. Unfortunately, he only has a few moments of peace before the door opens again and Peter enters, bearing a steaming hot plate of spaghetti with garlic bread on the side.

Peter (with that sweet, winning smile we know so well): Davy said you weren't hungry, so I asked Isabel if she'd make you some for later if you want it.

He crosses over to Mike, who puts the instrument back down and stands, taking the plate. This thoughtful gesture is clearly twisting the knife deeper, and he can't bring himself to look Peter in the eye.

Mike (mumbling): Thanks, Pete. You didn't have to do that.

Peter (aw, shucks): I'd hate for you to miss out. It's really good! Not only is she pretty, she's a great cook too. Wow—I think I'm in love!

Peter lifts a hand in farewell as he exits, exulting in the glory of new love. Mike manages a wan smile, which fades as soon as Peter is out the door. He stares down at the plate of spaghetti in his hands with a dejected expression and sighs as the lights around him fade to black, leaving him standing in a solitary pool of light, an outward manifestation of his inner state-i.e. lonely and depressed.

Mike: Yeah. Me, too.

The last light blinks out.

We go to commercial.


	2. Chapter 2

Act II. Scene One: Interior. At the Vincent Van Go-Go—their motto: 'Ere's to you—there's a dance floor with a pack of teenagers dancing around; on the sidelines near the walls are scattered tables and chairs where some people are sitting and talking, listening to the music (provided by The Monkees, of course), sipping drinks and munching snacks. We see Isabel sitting by herself at one table, engrossed in the music, her eyes riveted on Mike, who's up for lead vocals this time—"Sweet Young Thing." She smiles, responding to the lyrics; it seems she finds them particularly appealing and appropriate. The boys are in their grey suits for this gig—a blatant attempt to catch Isabel's eye on Peter's behalf, but unfortunately, she's admiring the wrong Monkee. The set ends, and the boys clamber off-stage, heading towards Isabel's table as if they're expected, which they are. Micky and Davy—working together on Peter's behalf—hustle Peter into the chair on Isabel's left despite his anxious, almost panicky look—admiring her is one thing, but actually courting her in person is something else—then fall into seats respectively around the table, leaving Mike to take the chair on Isabel's right. He's not happy about it; he's decided to stay out of Peter's way, but being in such close proximity to her makes that decision difficult to uphold.

Isabel (enthusiastically): That was wonderful! (She lifts her eyes to meet Mike's and smiles shyly) I like your voice.

Mike (embarrassed): Oh—uh—well, thanks. (a little too obvious, a little too cheerfully) But isn't Peter a great musician?

Isabel (diplomacy in action): You're all quite talented.

Mike (jumping up): Boy, my throat's dry! I'm going to get something to drink. Does anyone else want something to drink? (He doesn't wait for a reply despite Micky's upraised hand and open mouth, indicating that he was just about to say "yes.") I'm going over here now. Gonna get me something to drink. Yep. I'll be right back.

Mike hurries away—Micky almost falls over backwards in his chair still trying to put in that drink request—and Isabel watches him leave, her lips pursed in a moue of frustration. She's not a stupid girl, and she knows he's avoiding her, but she doesn't understand why; she feels certain he felt the same attraction to her that she did for him when they met.

Davy (turning to Isabel): So what brought you into town?

Isabel: A job—I start working as a newspaper intern next week.

Davy: Oh, you want to be a reporter?

Isabel: No, my goal is to be an editor, but I'll probably have to start off as a reporter and work my way up.

Micky (teasing): Yeah, well, do us a favor and ask the entertainment editor to write a good review about us.

Isabel (also teasing, one eyebrow raised as she gives him an wicked look): For a change?

Micky (placing one hand over his heart and looking pained): Ouch! I thought you said you liked our set!

Isabel (demurring): Well, I'm biased.

Micky and Davy exchange knowing smirks, assuming she means Peter. Meanwhile, we can see in the background Mike heading back towards the table, a glass in one hand. He looks wary, but when Isabel spots him, he has to bite the bullet and rejoin the others.

Davy (leaning his crossed arms against the tabletop as he addresses Isabel): So are you staying for the next set?

Isabel (with a regretful shake of her head): No, I can't. I wish I could, but I need to go home and start putting my portfolio together.

Peter (a tentative foray into actual conversation with her): Portfolio?

Isabel (explaining in a kindly, not condescending way): It's like a demo tape for writers.

The boys nod and exchange "oh!"s as Mike reaches the table and sits down again, carefully avoiding eye contact with Isabel. He sips his beverage gingerly, his attention focused everywhere but on the girl sitting next to him. With one last irritated grimace at him, Isabel scoots her chair back and stands up.

Isabel (wistful): I hate to leave, but I really should get going.

Micky: Good luck with your portfolio.

Isabel (smiling): Thanks. See you around.

They wave and say good-bye as she walks off; as soon as she's out the door, Davy and Micky round on Peter.

Davy (with exaggerated concern): You know, it's dangerous out on the streets for young ladies all alone. You really ought to walk her home, Peter.

Peter (petrified by the very idea of being alone with her): Walk her home? By myself? I couldn't do that! What would I say?

Micky (encouraging): Just talk to her, man. She's nice. You can find plenty of stuff to say.

Peter (babbling): I can't. No way. Why don't one of you guys do it?

Micky (sharply): Because we're not the ones in love with her!

Davy (more diplomatic): Micky and I are doing most of the singing in the next set. We can't leave without completely changing the song list.

Peter (desperate): Mike could go! He's a tall guy—she'll be safe with him.

Mike stares at Peter, his dark eyes round with surprise and alarm—a typical Mike reaction shot.

Mike: Me?! Why me? What about the set?

Davy: Yeah, that would work. Micky and I can take all the vocals this time, and Peter can cover your guitar part—no problem.

Mike (balking): Wait a minute—I think Peter oughta do this—I don't wanna—

Micky (giving Mike his best "for shame" guilt trip look): You mean you'd let that poor sweet innocent girl roam the streets unprotected? What if something happens to her?

Fantasy sequence: We see Isabel in a turn of the century dress complete with crinolines, wide-brim bonnet and parasol and wearing a brunette wig with fat sausage curls. All movement in this piece is in the jerky, double-speed style of early films; there is no dialogue, only the melodramatic piano music used to accompany silent films. Isabel walks down the sidewalk, smiling sweetly and innocently as she twirls her lacy parasol. From behind, we see a villain (Micky) dressed completely in black including a cape and mask stalking her, fingering his handlebar mustache menacingly. He grabs her from behind, and she screams—perhaps we have a dialogue card pop up reading "EEK!"—and tries to bop him with her parasol, which she ends up dropping. As she flails ineffectually at him, he hoists her over one shoulder and proceeds to carry her off for his own diabolical purposes. He retreats while she beats her fists on his back and kicks her feet to no avail.

Come back to a close-up on Mike, who reacts in horror—we've seen the show; we know the look he gets in situations like these.

Mike (jumping to his feet): You're right! I'll see you guys later!

Without a second thought, he runs out of the club, bent on catching up with Isabel.

~*~*~

Scene Two: Exterior. Generic street scene. In the foreground, Isabel walks at a leisurely pace, her hands wrapped around her arms for warmth as it's a chilly evening and she's wearing a short-sleeved dress; behind her, we see Mike racing up the sidewalk, panting a little as he catches up with her.

Mike: Isabel! Wait!

She stops and turns around, curiosity registering on her face; she's delighted to recognize Mike, but the look is fleeting, and she quickly masks it. He sprints up to her and stops, one hand on his chest as he gasps for air.

Isabel (carefully neutral): Did you want something?

Mike (chagrined and awkward): We—me and the guys—well, Micky and Davy, really—thought you might need someone to walk you home. For safety.

Isabel (fishing): So they elected you?

Mike (honestly): No, they elected Peter, but he's kinda shy, so—

Isabel (miffed): So you got roped into it instead. (She turns and stalks off, throwing her parting shot over her shoulder) Don't do me any favors!

Mike jogs to catch up with her again, and when he does, he reaches out and grasps her arm, turning her around to face him again, his expression contrite. He knows he's made a blunder, and he wants to fix it.

Mike (still holding her arm): I'm sorry—I didn't mean it like that. I don't want anything to happen to you, and it's not safe for you to walk around by yourself at night.

She can see he's sincere, and she melts. Meanwhile, he realizes her skin feels cool, and his Texas gentleman manners kick in.

Mike (solicitously): You're cold. Here—take this—

He removes his jacket and places it around her, smoothing it across her shoulders and down her arms, his fingers lingering over the job as their eyes meet and lock. She looks up at him, all pretense of disinterest gone. There is a long moment of tension as they stand on the sidewalk in a pool of light cast by a nearby streetlight, gazing at each other with mutual enchantment. Under normal circumstances, this would be the ideal time to kiss her, but for many reasons, he does not. Instead, he recalls the situation just before he leans in to lay one on her, and he withdraws instead.

Mike (removing himself to a safe distance): ....Let's go....

Isabel, disappointed but undaunted, snuggles closer into the folds of his jacket, enjoying the illusion of being wrapped in his arms, breathing in the Mike-scent that lingers in its folds. They walk along silently, Mike with his hands in his pockets, his gaze directed off to one side while Isabel seems lost in thought. Suddenly she notices something and veers off to a patch of flowers growing in someone's yard along the sidewalk.

Isabel: Oh, look—lilies!

She kneels down and caresses a pale, delicate bloom carefully, enjoying the light fragrance it offers.

Isabel (dreamily): I love lilies. They're my favorite flower.

Mike (teasing): I thought girls went nuts for roses.

Isabel (seriously): Not me. I prefer lilies. You get a beautiful flower and a lovely scent, but there aren't any thorns to prick you if you try to touch them. I don't really like getting hurt.

There's a message in there somewhere, and Mike thinks he understands what it is. He feels a little guilty for the way he's been treating her, but as we know, he has his reasons.

Mike (hesitantly, but offering a truce): Yeah, I can understand that.

Isabel (not looking at him): Good.

She indulges herself in admiring the flowers a moment longer, then stands and begins walking again. There's a change in the atmosphere between them—at once easier and more charged. We cut back to the club where Peter, Davy and Micky are on-stage. Micky sits at his drum kit and adjusts his microphone as he delivers this next speech.

Micky: Hi, everybody, we're The Monkees, and this next song is called "Sometime in the Morning"

They count off and launch into the tune, and we cut back and forth between scenes of the remainder of the group playing and of Isabel and Mike with the song acting as a voice-over as we go into a music video sequence.

We see Isabel saying something and both of them laughing; they take a detour into a park, and he pushes her in the swings and spins her on the merry-go-round. We see Isabel speaking again, and it's obvious she feels strongly about the subject; her face and body language are animated, and Mike listens attentively, his expression solemn. Next we see Mike get a flower and put it in her hair. Finally, they stop by a brick wall, deep in (unheard) conversation. He grasps her around the waist and hoists her up on top of the wall so she's roughly eye-level with him, then he stands in front of her, leaning against the wall with one hand braced on either side of her. He's talking, obviously telling her something serious and personal; Isabel listens, her complete attention riveted on him, and when he's through, she reaches for his hands, taking them in her own and giving them a comforting squeeze. He looks directly at her then, and once again their eyes meet and hold; neither can look away as long moments pass. He moves his hands so that they meet palm-to-palm with hers, and he laces their fingers together as he slowly leans forward, giving her plenty of time to pull away, but she doesn't-the moment is right, they're experiencing an emotional rapport, and he can't resist his own longings anymore. Their lips touch in a light but lingering kiss.

Back at the club, the group wraps up the song—to thunderous applause, of course—and Mike and Isabel part, still gazing at each other raptly. We cut to a close-up of Peter's happy, smiling face, and then back to Mike and Isabel, and we see Mike's stricken look. He backpedals away from her, and she stretches out one hand to him, bewildered by his sudden retreat.

Mike (babbling; he's devastated that he's just done something to undercut one of his best friends): I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that—We gotta forget that ever happened—I'm really sorry—Just forget about it, okay? It should never have happened—

Isabel jumps off the wall and stares up at him, tears shining in her eyes; she opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Hurt and humiliation are clear to read on her face, swiftly replaced by pure fury. She closes her jaw with a snap, turns sharply on her heel and sprints away from him, disappearing into the darkness without a backward glance. Mike takes a hesitant step forward as if to follow her, but he abandons that idea and remains where he is, watching her leave with regret.

~*~*~  
Scene Three: Interior. The living room. Peter is sitting at the large table writing something; he's totally engrossed, and every once-in-a-while we see him pause in his labors, looking up at the ceiling as if for inspiration. Micky and Davy are nowhere in sight. Mike sits on the couch, his chin propped on his fists as he stares off into space with a troubled expression. There comes a loud, sharp knock at the door; Peter doesn't even notice, so it's up to Mike to answer it. He ambles over and peeks out the window, consternation evident in his expression as he opens to door to reveal a grim-faced Isabel holding his jacket like it was infected with the plague. She thrusts it at him without a word, her mouth set in a thin line, her normally warm dark eyes cold and distant.

Mike (uncertain how to act—should he grovel? Should he just ignore the fact that she's royally pissed off at him?): Oh—uh—thanks. I forgot about that—

She cuts him off, shoving the coat in his arms and storming past him, making a beeline for Peter. Her shattered ego has taken about as much damage as it can from Mike, and since Peter obviously likes her, she has decided to enjoy the attention of someone who won't reject her. For a moment, Peter doesn't realize she's there, but when he glances up and sees her, he hastily turns over the sheet of paper he was scribbling on and stands up, smiling shyly. Mike watches them, not moving from where he stands, his jacket dangling limply from one hand.

Isabel (all traces of her anger are gone as she looks at Peter, and butter wouldn't melt in her mouth): Hi, Peter. How'd the second set go last night?

Peter: Oh, it went fine. Micky cut a couple of Mike's songs and let me sing "Come On In" and "Prithee" instead.

Isabel (honeyed tones): I wish I could have been there to hear that.

Peter (growing more comfortable now the ice has been broken): How's your portfolio coming?

Isabel: Fine, thanks. I'm almost finished with it. I couldn't sleep last night, so I got a lot of work done.

She doesn't so much as glance in Mike's direction as she says this, but the arrow hits home nonetheless, and he winces.

Isabel: I was thinking about going to the beach later....

She's dropping a rather broad hint, and after a moment, Peter picks it up.

Peter: Really? Micky and Davy are out surfing right now. We could join them if you want to—

Isabel (smiling): I'd love to. I'll go change, and I'll meet you outside in ten minutes, okay?

Peter (delighted and showing it): Okay!

Isabel waltzes out with only a slight nod to Mike to acknowledge his existence. The door doesn't—quite—slam shut behind her. Peter begins to gather up his stuff from the table, excitement radiating from every pore.

Mike (curiosity finally getting the better of him): What were you working on, Pete?

Peter: I was writing a love poem for Isabel. (Pause) Wanna read it?

He offers it shyly to Mike, who takes the paper and reads silently, his expressions changing swiftly to reflect his reaction to Peter's missive. None of them are particularly favorable.

Peter (eager but nervous): What do you think?

Mike hesitates before answering, determined to exercise all the tact he can.

Mike: Well, I hate to say it, old buddy, but I think it could use some work. I tell you what: why don't you let me have it a while, and I'll see what I can do. Then you can decide whether you want to give it to her or not.

Peter: Like Cyrano de Bergerac!

Mike (touching his nose defensively): Hey—my nose isn't that big—

But Peter is already off and running upstairs to change into his bathing suit, leaving Mike alone. He heaves a sigh and crosses over to Mr. Schneider.

Mike: Well, now she hates me, which is great for Peter, but a stone drag for me.

He pulls Mr. Schneider's cord, and once more pithy words of wisdom spew from the puppet's voice box.

Mr. Schneider: It is a far, far better thing I do than I have ever done.

Mike (with typical Mike grimace): I'm really starting to hate you.

~*~*~

Scene Four: Exterior. On the beach. There are two surfboards lying on the sand, and a volleyball net is set up off to one side; the ball rests at the base of one of the poles. We can also see 2-3 beach towels with sandals, suntan lotion, and other beachy accessories carelessly tossed on them. A group of young people are emerging from the water, heading for the shore; they're laughing and talking. Among them we can see the four boys, Isabel, and two other girls. We notice Micky fooling around, scooping up one of the girls in the group-not Isabel-and threatening to dunk her in the water; she shrieks and giggles, clinging tightly to him, which is exactly the effect he was going for. Davy has his arm around the shoulders of another pretty lass, and they're kicking water at each other and laughing. Peter is hovering near Isabel, not touching her, but clearly they are concentrating on each other in much the same way as the other two couples. Mike is alone, keeping a little distance between himself and the others.

Pansy (Micky's girl): Hey, you guys—let's play some volleyball!

This suggestion is met with enthusiasm, and the gang scampers to the net, dividing into two teams, one consisting of Davy, Sarah (his li'l honey-a petite miss), Isabel and Peter and the other of Micky, Pansy and Mike. Davy retrieves the ball and prepares to serve.

Micky (hands on hips with a "it's not fair" tone): Hey—you guys got more people than we do!

Isabel (with a teasing look at Davy and Sarah): Not really—these two put together equal one tall person, and you've got Mike.

Davy serves, and the game is on. "The Kind of Girl I Could Love" starts up as we see various cuts from the game—lunges, dodges, good hits clearing the net and the gloating that follows, plus close-ups of Isabel followed by shots that reveal either Peter or Mike or both watching her closely. At one point, she and Peter leap to hit the ball from opposite directions and end up in a tangle on the sand; he helps her up and dusts her off, clearly anxious to make sure she's not hurt. She busses him quickly on the cheek before returning to the game, and he presses his hand against his cheek, savoring the moment as the music fades. The game ends, and Davy's team wins. He whoops victoriously and kisses Sarah while on the other side of the net, Micky and Mike glower while Pansy slips her arm around Micky's shoulders and consoles him. Isabel dashes over to Peter and throws her arms around him, grinning broadly.

Isabel (jumping up and down with excitement as she keeps one arm around Peter): We won! We won!

Peter returns her embrace and begins jumping up and down with her. After the merriment ceases—amid much grumbling from Micky about being out-numbered and Mike not putting those long stork legs to good use—the group breaks up and scatters.

Isabel: C'mon, Peter, your shoulders are getting red. Let me put some lotion on them before you burn.

She reaches out and captures his hand, tugging him toward one of the beach towels; he follows. Davy and Sarah take off down the beach for a private walk, arms around each others' waist. Micky and Pansy grab the surfboards and head back to the water. Mike—alone and friendless like a li'l lost puppy dog—goes off and sits somewhere close enough so he can see what's going on with Isabel and Peter without being intrusive. He's trying to act like he's not paying any attention to them at all, but he is, and Isabel—with the awareness that comes with attraction—knows it. She massages suntan lotion on Peter's shoulders and back, sneaking covert peeks at Mike the whole time; from the stonily neutral expression on his face, we can tell he's suffering, but he's trying not to show it. A close-up reveals the anguish in his eyes every time she touches Peter, but he's not about to stop her. Peter, on the other hand, is in paradise. He's as happy as a little clam, basking in the attention of the girl he likes.

Peter (shyly, a little uncertain if he's pushing his luck): D'you want me to put some on your shoulders?

Isabel (gracious smile): Sure.

They switch places so she's sitting cross-legged in front of him while he kneels behind her on the towel, smoothing the lotion into her skin as if he were handling delicate porcelain. She closes her eyes and relaxes; Mike, however, is even more tense. He can't take it any more; he jumps up and back towards their house. When Isabel opens her eyes and sees he's gone, her face falls with disappointment, and we fade to black.

~*~*~

Scene Five: Interior. The living room. Mike sits alone at the table; like Peter in the previous scene, he is concentrating on writing. He pauses to think a couple of times, maybe shakes his head and erases something. After a moment, he raises the sheet of paper he's been scribbling on and reads it with a critical frown. Apparently it passes because he stands up and heads for the door. As the camera follows him to an exterior shot, we see him open the door, check for any sign of life, then sneak out of the house and across the yard to Isabel's door. Again, another careful check that he's not being watched, then he slips the paper under her door and sprints back to his own place. Cut back to an interior shot, and we see Mike as he dashes inside and slams the door shut behind him, leaning against it with one hand on his stomach and a "Whew!" expression on his face.

Suitably recovered from his little escapade, he returns to the table and sits down, taking a fresh piece of paper and beginning to write again. "This Just Doesn't Seem to be My Day" begins playing as we dissolve into another music video sequence. For this montage, we start off with Peter and Isabel on the beach, billing and cooing at each other—sticky-sweet nausea factor +10—while Mike sits on a nearby dune, watching dolefully; between scenes, we cut back to Mike at his table, still writing, and each time we see him, the stack of paper in front of him is larger, indicating he's churning out something at a remarkable rate. Next we see Peter and Isabel at an amusement park, clinging to each other with gleeful fright as they hurtle along the rails of a roller coaster; Mike is alone in the car behind them, again looking pitiful. We see Isabel in a sexy li'l mini-skirted Santa suit posing under a sprig of mistletoe suspended from the ceiling in the boys' living room. Smiling broadly, Mike closes his eyes and reaches out to embrace her, but his arms close on thin air, causing him to stumble; his eyes fly open, wide with surprise, and we pan a little to one side to see Peter holding a sprig of mistletoe over Isabel's head and kissing her. Finally, we see Peter and Isabel standing at the alter dressed as a bride and groom; next to Peter—obviously acting as the best man—Mike watches the romantic wedding scene with increasing misery on his face as he holds the ring which Peter eventually slips on Isabel's finger. As the ceremony ends, Peter and Isabel gaze with blissful adoration at each other while we close in on Mike, who's wearing one of his typical "I'm upset" reaction expressions.

Fade back to reality as Peter bursts into the apartment, brimming with his usual good humor. Mike glances up to see who it is, and when he sees Peter, he stands, gathers up the stack of papers and crosses the room to dump them into Peter's arms.

Peter (bewildered): What's all this?

Mike (terse): The love poems you wanted for Isabel. I already slipped one under her door. You can give her the rest yourself or throw 'em out if you don't like 'em.

Without another word, he heads upstairs. Peter gazes down at the sheaf of paper, beaming happily.

Peter (calling up to Mike): Thanks, man—I owe you!

It is possible that we hear a faint response—"More than you know"—but it's obvious Peter doesn't. He sits down on the couch and begins to read as we fade to black.

We go to commercial—Kellogg's, of course.


	3. Chapter 3

Act Three. Scene One: Interior. The Vincent Van Go-Go again. The jukebox is playing rather than a live band, and we see Micky and Pansy among the crowd of dancing young people. Mike, Davy and Isabel are seated at a table; Peter is nowhere in sight. Isabel and Davy are both grooving to the music, but Mike is not. Isabel glances speculatively at him; it would seem her anger has dissipated enough to try again, but at the same time, she's wary, knowing he's tried to keep some distance between them. She opens her mouth to say something—

Davy: Hey, Isabel—wanna dance?

She glances at Davy, trying to mask her disappointment with a game smile; he's just being friendly after all.

Isabel (nodding): Sure, why not?

They both stand up and circle around the table; Davy reaches for her hand and leads her out on the floor where they join the others, perhaps moving close to Micky and Pansy. They're both good dancers—Isabel has some nice moves—and the little group seems to have fun. Mike watches appreciatively, not one to pass up a good view when it's in front of him. When the song is over, Pansy stays on the dance floor, but Isabel, Micky and Davy return to the table, laughing and wiping their brows. Davy falls into his chair again, but Isabel remains standing.

Isabel (tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear; it promptly falls again): Gosh, that was wonderful! I haven't danced in ages. I don't want to stop now—

She hesitates, obviously fearing rejection, but she takes the plunge anyway, a hopeful look on her face.

Isabel: How about it, Mike? Will you join me?

He glances up at her, startled by her unexpected invitation.

Mike (fumbling for words): Oh—uh—gee, thanks, but not this time. I don't dance much—not very good, y'know—two left feet—I'd hate to look stupid out there, and I wouldn't wanna embarrass you—

Isabel (stung—again): Oh?

There is a world of meaning in that one little syllable, and Mike, Micky and Davy hear it. Davy and Micky squirm uncomfortably, reluctant witnesses to the drama being played out. Mike jumps up, anxious to convince her that it's not an excuse this time; he really doesn't dance unless forced at gunpoint (see my disclaimer at the end).

Mike (earnestly): No, really—I don't dance—

Without thinking, he reaches up to tuck the loose strand behind her ear again, but she flinches away, and he lets his hand fall back by his side, looking woebegone.

Isabel (dripping with ice): I think I understand—completely.

She turns and walks out of the club, head held high; she is not going to make a scene in public. Mike remains, clearly debating whether he should follow. Davy stands up, tugging Micky's arm as he does.

Davy: C'mon—we gotta find Peter.

Micky looks at him with an "oh, right!" expression, jumps up and heads out the door. Mike touches Davy's shoulder.

Mike (anxious): You want me to come with you?

Davy: No, you better stay here. I think you've done enough.

That came out sharper than he intended, and he relents, giving Mike a puzzled look—it's obvious Mike's not happy with this turn of events.

Davy: What is it with you two, man? You act like you hate her.

Mike (vehement): No, man—I don't hate her—not at all. That's the problem.

He slumps wearily in his chair again, and Davy sits down too, ready to lend a sympathetic ear. If there's one thing he knows, it's girl problems.

Mike (glancing around to make sure they won't be overheard): Okay, look—if I tell you this, you gotta promise you won't tell anyone. Not Micky, and especially not Peter.

Davy (intrigued, moving closer so they're in a conspiratorial huddle): No problem.

Mike: Okay. (He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, bracing himself for the Big Revelation) I like Isabel.

Davy (nonchalant shrug): We all like Isabel. She's a nice girl.

Mike (shaking his head): No, no—you don't get it. I mean I like Isabel.

Three, two, one....

Davy (wide-eyed with understanding): Ohhhh....You like her.

Mike (relieved that's been cleared up): Yeah, but Peter met her first, and he was already crazy about her, and you know how often Peter finds a girl who likes him—

Davy: Yeah—about as often as you do.

Mike (typical Mike grimace): Thanks a lot. Anyway, I didn't want to cut him out. None of us liked what happened when we were all after April, and I didn't want to risk hurting Peter by trying to steal his girl. Our friendship's too important.

Davy (with an admiring look): That's really good of you, Mike. (Thought balloon; looking at the camera) How noble—how self-sacrificing— how stupid!

Suddenly, Micky rushes back in and approaches them, panting as if he's been running around.

Davy: Did you find Peter?

Micky (out-of-breath): Yeah, man. He's gone back to the house to see if he can find Isabel. (Pause) What's with her anyway? Why'd she get so upset?

Davy (deliberately casual): Oh, she and Mike just had a fight earlier, and she's still not over it, that's all. No big deal.

Micky looks back and forth between Davy and Mike for confirmation; Mike nods vehemently, his eyes wide, mouth set in serious lines.

Micky (with a dismissive shrug): Oh, well, I hope you guys make up. That was a pretty bad scene.

Mike (distantly): Yeah, I'll see what I can do—if she'll speak to me.

They exit the club. Micky looks unconcerned—matters have been explained to his satisfaction—Davy appears thoughtful, and Mike is trying to maintain a neutral expression. Fade to black.

~*~*~

Scene Two: Interior. A country club ballroom. Our boys are performing— "Papa Gene's Blues," with Mike exhibiting considerably less enthusiasm for the song than usual—on a platform stage at one end of the room. Directly in front of them is a dance floor which is crowded with people of various ages. Scattered around the remainder of the room are numerous tables draped with pristine white tablecloths and decorated with bright, colorful flowers. A small center table has a multi-layered cake on it; the rest are occupied by adults and young people who are talking, eating and drinking. It would seem a good time is being had by all. When the number ends, Micky announces a break, and they scramble off the stage to join the milling crowd. They head for the buffet table, but they are cut off by a jovial older man who has a beaming teenage girl trailing in his wake.

Mr. Burnside (with hearty good cheer): Well done, boys!

Davy (with an eye on the young lady, who is flirting with him from behind her father's back): Thank you very much, sir.

Mr. Burnside: You've made my little Kitten very happy.

He turns and pinches his daughter affectionately on the cheek; she giggles and slips her arm through his. He obviously spoils her dreadfully, and she's got Daddy wrapped around her little finger.

Mr. Burnside: Here's your check—

He reaches into an inner pocket in his suit jacket and pulls out a long white envelope, handing it to Davy, who is acting as nominal spokesman.

Mr. Burnside: You've earned it! And as a way of thanking you for helping make my Kitten's eighteenth birthday party so special, I've included an extra bonus.

Davy (we can practically see the dollar signs in his eyes): We really don't know how to thank you for giving us this chance, sir—

Mr. Burnside (waving away Davy's effusive thanks with a generous hand): Not at all, boys. I happened to have four tickets for the club's annual charity ball next Saturday night, and I want you to have them. They're the last tickets left, so you won't be able to bring dates, but there'll be plenty of lovely young girls for you to meet.

He gives Davy a knowing man-to-man elbow in the ribs, nearly knocking him down in the process. Micky, Peter and Mike look at each other with growing excitement; it's not more money, but, hey—a party! Woo hoo! Davy accepts the envelope with grateful ebullience, and as Mr. Burnside departs with Kitten on his arm, the boys cluster together as he tears it open to pass out the coveted tickets.

Micky (staring at his ticket, amazed): These are the hottest tickets in town! Everybody's gonna be there!

Davy (waving his ticket in one hand, bursting with excitement): Do you realize what a great opportunity this is for us? This could be our big break!

Mike (slipping his into his pocket): At least we might get a few more gigs from Mr. Burnside's friends—

Peter (staring mournfully at him, his face falling with dejection): I wish I could ask Isabel to go with me.

Micky (speculative): Yeah, you guys haven't been out on a real date yet, have you? You really oughta ask her out, man.

Peter: How can I? We've only got one ticket apiece.

Micky: You'll have to make it some other time....What a bummer. The charity ball would be a really impressive first date. If that didn't get her, nothing would!

They stand there for a moment, deep in thought. The consensus seems to be that Micky is right—the ball would be an ideal first date—but they're at a loss about how to make it happen. Peter, Micky, and Davy's expressions reflect varying amounts of brow-furrowing concentration; Mike's is conflicted. At last, he pulls his ticket out of his pocket and holds it out to Peter.

Mike (low voice): Here, Pete. You can have mine.

Peter stares at the ticket in Mike's hand but doesn't take it. His face brightens with hope, but he puts up resistance.

Peter: Oh, no—I couldn't! You'd miss out—

Mike (interrupting): No, Micky's right. If you're gonna impress Isabel, this is the best way to do it. Take the ticket, man.

He offers it again, and this time, reluctantly, Peter takes it with a look of stunned appreciation for Mike's sacrifice.

Peter (staring at the pair of tickets in awe): I can't believe you're giving up your ticket for me....

Mike (playing it off): Well, you'd do the same for me. Just go and have a great time with Isabel.

Peter (looking at Mike with a sweet expression that is a mixture of affection and gratitude which—judging from Mike's reaction— makes the sacrifice almost worth it): Thanks, Mike. This really means a lot to me.

Mike looks away, embarrassed; Micky jumps in, nearly bursting with excitement.

Micky: We gotta make plans! We gotta do this right, y'know? You gotta get your clothes ready, you gotta get her some flowers—roses. Chicks really dig roses—

Mike (shaking his head emphatically): Uh-uh, no way, man. Get lilies.

Peter (looking at him quizzically): Lilies?

Mike: Yeah, she's crazy about lilies.

Davy (the voice of reason): But you have to ask her first.

For a moment, Peter stands frozen, a horrified look on his face.

Peter: What if she says no?

Mike drapes a comforting arm around Peter's shoulders, falling into comforting big brother mode.

Mike (soothingly): Don't even think like that. She's not gonna say no. Why would she? Haven't you two been pretty tight lately?

Peter (slowly): Ye-es.

Mike: Well, then what are you worried about?

Peter (doubtfully): I guess you're right....

Mike (with blithe confidence): Of course I am. Now first thing tomorrow morning, you go over to her house and ask her to this little shindig. Then we'll make sure everything is just perfect for you. Okay?

Mike's assurance does much to assuage Peter's fears, and he smiles and nods happily as Mike leads him to the buffet table, followed by Micky and Davy, who are already nattering to each other about the ideas they've got to make Peter's big date an affair to remember. Fade to black.

~*~*~

Scene Three: Exterior. Outside Isabel's house. Peter, Davy and Micky—all dressed in formal evening wear—cluster in front of Isabel's door. Peter clutches a bouquet of lilies in varying pastel shades, baby's breath and greenery. Davy is trying to straighten Peter's tie, which is being stubborn. Micky is just standing there watching and offering useless advice on how to fix it. Not far away, we see the door to their house is open, and Mike is standing on the front steps, arms folded across his chest as he watches dispassionately. He's wearing normal, everyday clothes—jeans, Western cut shirt, wool hat, etc. Finally, Peter passes inspection, and he approaches Isabel's door, fist poised to knock. He glances over his shoulder at Micky and Davy, who clap him on the back and offer encouraging words. He then turns so he can look back at Mike, who smiles and gives him a thumbs-up. Peter squares his shoulders, raises the bouquet-and knocks. A tense moment later, Isabel opens her door, smiling as she does so. She's wearing a full length sapphire blue evening gown with a discreet slit up one side; her hair is swept up in a chignon. She looks elegant, and all four boys gape at her shamelessly.

Isabel (ignoring the sea of slack jaws around her): Hi, Peter—you're right on time.

She gives him an admiring once-over, then does the same for Micky and Davy, who preen visibly.

Isabel: You guys look great.

Peter (effusively): So do you. (He pauses, then offers her the flowers) These are for you.

Isabel accepts them, gasping with delight when she realizes what they are.

Isabel (pleasantly shocked): Lilies! Oh, they're beautiful! How did you—?

She glances up over Peter's shoulder and catches sight of Mike, who is still lingering on the lawn. He's watching intently to see her reaction, but he's careful not to admit to anything via his expression; he is a study in neutrality. Her eyes narrow as she regards him speculatively.

Isabel (not bothering to finish her own question): Thank you, Peter.

She kisses him lightly on the cheek, then turns back to her entrance hall.

Isabel: I'll go put these in water. I'll be right back.

She disappears, and Peter turns to look at Mike and calls out.

Peter: You were right! Thanks, Mike.

Mike gives an enigmatic smile but doesn't respond other than to press a finger to his lips: "Shh!" Micky and Davy encourage Peter, telling him things are off to a good start, etc. When Isabel re-emerges, she slips her arm through Peter's and smiles up at him.

Isabel: I've been looking forward to this all day, Peter. Thanks so much for inviting me.

Peter (beaming down at her; he couldn't be any higher unless he was on something): I'm glad you said yes.

Micky (almost to his saccharine limit): Can we go now? I don't wanna be late.

Micky leads the way to the car, followed closely by Peter and Isabel. Davy dawdles a moment, casting a look of concern at Mike, who waves, then goes inside and shuts the door. Still troubled, Davy shrugs, sighs, and starts to follow the others. He narrowly misses bumping into Isabel, who has come back to her house alone. She glances guiltily at their front door, then turns her attention to Davy.

Isabel (it's an unnecessary explanation, but she feels compelled to offer it): I forgot my purse. I'll just be a minute.

Davy: Right.

He starts to leave again, but she stops him with a hand on his arm.

Isabel (softly, almost sadly; she thinks this is just another avoidance tactic): Why isn't Mike coming with us?

Davy gazes at her silently a moment, torn between spilling the truth or reinforcing Mike's supposed dislike of her. This is actually a pretty tough spot for him to be in, i.e. in the middle of two of his best friends' romantic problems, especially since only one of them knows there's a problem to begin with! He doesn't want to favor one over the other, but then, it's not fair to Isabel if he lies to her.

Davy (slowly, with obvious reluctance): He can't. Mr. Burnside only had four tickets left, and Mike gave his to Peter so he could invite you.

Isabel stares blankly at him, her jaw dropping a little with shock. Slowly her expression changes from dumbfounded amazement to bafflement.

Isabel: I see....

Davy (worried): Look, you can't let on I told you, all right? It's supposed to be a secret, but I thought—

He hesitates, knowing he's making his own situation worse by making himself a mediator of sorts.

Davy (deep breath, then plunging in): I thought you ought to know since you and Mike haven't been getting on very well lately. This isn't personal. He's just trying to help out Peter.

Isabel (gravely): I appreciate your honesty. And don't worry—I won't let on to Peter that I know anything about it.

Davy (relieved): Thanks, Isabel. You're a great girl.

He dashes off to join the others before she has a chance to respond, and she watches him go with a pensive look. When she's certain he's gone, she heads to her house, unlocks the door, slips in and re-emerges a second later with a small evening bag that matches her dress, closing up behind herself. She stares at the closed door across the yard, biting her lower lip. She takes a hesitant step forward, pauses, catches a deep breath, then strides purposefully across the yard to the Monkees' place—she didn't promise she wouldn't say anything to Mike, after all. She stands in front of the door, preparing to knock when the door opens suddenly, and she and Mike do a typical fright reaction shot.

Isabel (pressing her hand to her chest and leaning against the wall): Mike! You scared me half to death!

Mike (still reeling from the shock himself): Well, let's make sure it doesn't happen again. I don't want to be guilty of murder.

Isabel gives him a long, steady, "I can't believe you just said that" look.

Mike (chagrined): Little joke....

Isabel (holding her thumb and forefinger an inch apart): About that big.

Just then, she notices Mike is holding a piece of paper, and she looks at it, curious.

Isabel (pointing at the sheet of paper): What have you got there?

Mike (with a guilty look at the paper; it's another poem, of course): This? Oh, this is nothing. Just some trash—

As he speaks, he wads the paper up into a little ball and tosses it over his shoulder into their living room—where she can't get to it since he's blocking the door.

Mike (continuing): See? Just some old junk I had to throw out. Yep, it's trash. Nothing important.

Isabel raises a doubtful eyebrow at him, but before she can question him further, he turns the tables on her.

Mike: So did you want something?

Isabel (startled): What—?

Mike (patiently): You were about to knock, right?

Isabel (flustered): Oh!

She looks up at him, wanting to confront him. She's confused about his motives. If he hates her, why did he remember the lilies? Why did he kiss her in the first place? Silently she reviews the evidence—the lilies, the ticket, the avoidance—and then she thinks about Peter, a sweet, innocent guy who seems to adore her and who trusts his friends. Demanding an answer from Mike which she might not like has the potential to upset her, which in turn will ruin the evening for Peter, and it's clear the boys put considerable effort into making things just right for the couple. In the end, she decides to wait. Now isn't the time.  
Mike (a gentle reminder): Peter's waiting for you.

Isabel: Yes...I suppose I ought to go to him....

She turns and starts to walk away.

Mike: Isabel—

She turns back to him, hope blooming in her face.

Mike: Did you want something?

Isabel (shaking her head slowly): No...Not really. It can wait.

Mike: Okay. Well...I hope you have a good time.

Isabel (with dignity): Thank you.

With that, she walks out. Mike watches until the door closes behind her, then retreats into the house and shuts the door. Fade out.

We got commercial sign! Oh, wait...Wrong show. Sorry...


	4. Chapter 4

Act Four. Scene One: Interior. In the upstairs bedroom. Mike is standing in front of the mirror, combing his hair. On the other side of the room, Davy has just pulled on his shirt and is beginning to button it up.

Mike (casually): So how'd it go last night?

Davy (as he speaks, he finishes buttoning the shirt, fastens the cuffs and then moves to stand beside Mike at the mirror, checking out his hair): It was great! You wouldn't believe how many people were there—hundreds, I'll bet! And Mr. Burnside introduced us to some of his friends. We picked up two birthday parties and a dinner show at Cafe Francais. Oh, and the food—it was outta this world! Filet mignon, caviar, lobster tail—I can't even remember everything they had. The band was okay, but it was ballroom stuff, y'know?

While Davy chatters away, Mike listens, inserting head-nods and "uh-huh"s in the right places; meanwhile, his patience grows thin as Davy mentions everything but the one thing he wants to hear about, namely how the big First Date went.

Davy (oblivious to Mike's impatience): We didn't get to dance a lot, which was too bad 'cause there were some really cute girls. I got a couple of phone numbers, and I think Micky did too—

Mike (he can't take it any longer—he's got to know): What about Peter and Isabel, man? How'd that go?

Davy (startled at the sudden interruption): Oh, I guess you haven't seen Peter this morning.

Mike (deceptively calm): No, I have not seen Peter this morning. That's why I'm asking you.

Davy (bemused): Well, if you could get him back on solid ground, I think he'd say he had a blast.

Mike (rueful): He's really out there, huh?

Davy (snickering): Oh, yeah—I don't think he's gotten his head out of all those fluffy pink clouds since we dropped Isabel off last night.

Mike: Well, that's good....

Davy (giving Mike a searching look): For Peter, maybe, but what about you?

Mike (shrugging it off): Oh, I'm fine.

Davy (concerned): You sure? It's gotta be hard seeing Peter with the girl you lost.

Mike (with more pragmatism than he actually feels): I can't lose what I never had. Isabel likes Peter, and that's for the best.

Davy: All's well that ends well, I guess....

Mike (mirthless smile): Yeah, something like that.

Davy (trying to be comforting): Well, look, there are plenty of other girls out there—

Mike: You oughta know.

Davy (ignoring the jibe): —and I'm sure you'll meet someone else soon.

Mike: Yeah, I know, but right now, I don't wanna meet anyone else. Does that make sense?

Davy (shaking his head solemnly): Not a bit.

Mike: I figured you'd say that.

Davy: Why don't you give that redhead you went out with a few months ago a call? She seemed nice.

Mike (grimacing): Yeah, she was real nice and sweet—and dumb as a box of rocks.

Davy (with asperity): It's a date, not a nuclear science experiment.

Mike (indignant): She probably couldn't even spell "nuclear science!" I'd like a girl with a little more brains than that. Someone who's pretty and smart and likes music—

Davy (deadpan): Someone like Isabel.

Mike realizes the implications of what he's said, and he looks crestfallen; he's not as immune to her as he wants to act.

Mike (dejected): Yeah, someone like Isabel.

Davy: If you want my advice, I'd say you ought to stay away from her. If you don't, you're just going to fall harder.

Mike (determined): You're right. I need to keep my distance until I'm completely over her, even if it takes a really long time.

Davy: How long do you think it'll take?

Mike: A really long time.

 

Scene Two: Interior. The living room. Micky and Mike are playing checkers while Davy is off in a corner having a quiet conversation on the phone, probably with a girl. Peter lopes down the stairs, heads for the kitchen area and begins rummaging around in the cupboards. Micky stops mid-move as he and Mike both glance up to see what's going on.

Mike (curious): What're you doing, Pete?

Peter gets a frying pan from the cabinet and then turns to face them, smiling happily.

Peter (radiating pride): I invited Isabel over for dinner. I'm going to cook for her.

Mike and Micky do an alarmed double-take at each other before they jump up in unison and race to the kitchen.

Micky (disbelieving): You're going to cook for Isabel?

Mike (trying to be diplomatic): That's a real nice idea, Peter, but—

Peter (wounded): You guys don't like my cooking?

Mike and Micky exchange looks, both of them probably remembering the cream of root beer soup.

Mike: Well, now, we didn't say that—

Micky (bluntly): You'll never get a girl to fall in love with you by giving her food poisoning.

Mike gives Micky a reproachful glare and punches his shoulder. Micky yelps, rubs his shoulder and backs a couple of steps out of striking range.

Micky: Don't do that.

Mike (soothingly): Look, Peter, none of us are really good cooks. Why don't you get take-out instead?

Peter (disappointed): I wanted to do something special....

Mike (scrambling for ideas): Well, we could fix the place up nice— y'know, candles, music, that kind of thing. If you have the right kind of atmosphere, the food won't matter.

Peter brightens at the thought, and—dropping the frying pan which lands on Mike's foot; typical pain reaction shot there—dashes off-camera, returning quickly with a fistful of long white candles. Meanwhile, Micky tries not to laugh as Mike limps to the counter so he can lean against it while favoring his wounded foot. Once back with the candles, Peter runs around the room in double-speed, moving the small kitchen table outside on the terrace, placing the candles, lighting them, dousing most of the interior lights, setting the table with a nice tablecloth and china, then disappearing into the downstairs bedroom to return wearing a burgundy velvet smoking jacket with black lapels and cuffs and an white ascot.

Peter (presenting himself for their inspection): What d'you think?

Micky (giving him the "okay" sign): Very nice.

Mike: You forgot one thing.

Peter (concerned): What's that?

Mike: The food.

Peter: Ohmigosh!

He runs out of the house in double-time again; Mike and Micky barely have enough time to go out on the terrace to check out the table and then return to the kitchen before Peter bursts in, his arms laden with a bag of Chinese take-out which he deposits on the end table by the couch.

Mike: Now you're ready.

And not a moment too soon. There's a knock at the door. Peter is the closest, so he checks the window, a huge smile lighting up his face as he opens the door. It's Isabel, of course, and she allows Peter to give her a quick kiss on the cheek.

Isabel: Am I too early?

She steps into the living room, and Peter leads her towards the terrace.

Peter: No, you're just in time! Everything's all set up on the terrace. I got Chinese food. Is that okay? Mike and Micky said I probably shouldn't cook for you.

Isabel (hiding a smile): That'll be fine.

She pauses near the kitchen where Mike and Micky are still standing and smiles at them both.

Isabel (warmly): Hi, Micky. Did you call that girl? What was her name— Veronica?

Micky (with a disgusted look at the corner where Davy is still talking): No, Davy's been hogging the phone, so I haven't had a chance.

Isabel (noticeably cooler): Hello, Mike.

Mike (noticeably nervous): Hi, Isabel—Bye, Isabel.

He bolts for the door, but Micky's voice stops him before he can make a clean get-away.

Micky: Hey, Mike—where ya going?

Mike (improvising madly): I'm—uh—I'm going to see a movie. Yep, that's it. Haven't seen a good movie in a long time, so I'm headed out right now. Bye—

Micky: Wait a minute—I thought you were broke!

Mike: Well, then I'll just stand around outside the theater until the people come out, and I'll ask them how it was.

With that, he's gone, leaving everyone except Davy gaping after him with "What the heck was that all about?" expressions.

 

Scene Three: Interior. The living room. Mike is sitting at the larger table eating a sandwich; the others are nowhere around. There's a knock at the door, but before he can get up to answer it, Isabel opens the door and peeks her head in.

Isabel (hesitantly): Is Peter around? He asked me to meet him over here this afternoon.

Mike (putting his sandwich down as he rises): Uh, no, he's not here right now, but you can wait for him if you want.

Isabel gives him a brilliant smile as she steps inside, and we can see Mike mentally kicking his own tail for inadvertently putting himself in the position of being alone with her. Isabel moves to sit down on the couch as Mike stands silent and awkward, trying to think of a way out of this.

Mike (babbling): Oh, you know what? I totally forgot—I just thought of something I need to be doing somewhere else. I'd better go do it before I forget again. Peter shouldn't be long, so you stay right there.

With that, he rushes out the door, leaving Isabel gaping incredulously. We hear the beginning of "Nine Times Blue" as we fade into another music video sequence.

This is a series of scenes showing the lengths Mike is going these days to avoid Isabel, and they grow increasingly ludicrous as the song progresses. We see him pointedly avoiding eye contact with her as she dances in a club crowd at one of their gigs; at the house, he opens to door to admit her, then when she's inside, he immediately steps outside and shuts the door behind him; on the beach, if she's laying out or playing volleyball, he's in the water, and if she's in the water, he's on the sand. During all of this, we see Peter remaining steadfastly by her side. She grows more and more aware that Mike is deliberately evading her, and from her reactions each time, we sense that her feelings are deeply hurt. Mike is trying to spare Peter's feelings, but he's running roughshod over Isabel's in the process even though he doesn't mean to—and he's not even aware of it since he doesn't know she cares about him. He's working under the assumption that she really likes Peter best.

As the music fades, we cut back to Isabel still sitting on the couch, and she snatches up a pillow, hurling it at the closed door with an outraged cry. Her anger vented, she collapses on the sofa with her head buried in her arms, and we can see her shoulders shaking. About this time, the door opens again, and it's Peter. As soon as she hears the door, Isabel sits up and wipes her eyes frantically. Peter's initial happiness at seeing her there dims when he realizes she's upset, and he rushes to sit next to her, slipping a comforting arm around her shoulders, not noticing a small piece of paper that falls from his hand and flutters to the floor.

Peter: What's wrong? Did something happen? Are you okay?

Isabel nods through her sniffles, trying to regain her composure.

Isabel: I'm fine. I just—

She pauses, trying to come up with something to tell him other than screaming, "Your best friend is treating me like dirt!" as she would probably like to do.

Isabel (taking refuge in vagueness): I just got some bad news, that's all.

Peter: Is there anything I can do?

Isabel (wan smile): Thanks, but no. I know you had some plans for us today, but—

She hesitates, biting her lip. She hates to dump him, but she's really in no mood for socializing at the moment.

Isabel: Could we get together some other time? I think I just need to be alone for a while. Do you mind?

Peter (stalwart): No, of course I don't mind.

Isabel stands and moves to the door.

Isabel: Thanks for being so understanding, Peter.

Peter (hopefully): Maybe I should drop by later and see how you're doing. I never like to be alone for too long when I'm depressed.

Isabel: Okay.

She notices the paper he dropped and bends to retrieve it. She studies it for a moment, then casts a quizzical look at Peter.

Isabel: Is this yours?

Peter stands and moves to her side, peering over her shoulder to read the paper. With a smile, he nods and takes it from her.

Peter: That's my list of things I needed to do while I was out. I guess I can throw it away now.

Still looking puzzled, Isabel leaves as Peter heads to the nearest trash can. Fade to...

*~*~*

Scene Four: Exterior. On the beach at twilight. The full moon's light is reflected on the water; the sun has already faded so that the horizon is blue and purple, rapidly turning to black. The roar of the incoming waves acts as a tranquilizer for Isabel, who is sitting cross-legged on a large beach blanket. She is wearing a black bikini with an unbuttoned light-weight black shirt to help ward off the encroaching night's chill. She cradles a guitar in her lap, playing and singing softly to herself. It's a familiar tune—"Sweet Young Thing." This song is particularly appropriate, and she knows it.

Isabel: "—Turned on to the sunset like I've never been before, I listen for your footsteps and your knock upon the door—"

Unbeknownst to Isabel, Mike has appeared on the beach as well. We see him in the background, walking quickly and easily toward the waves; like Isabel, he's wearing a bathing suit and an unbuttoned shirt. As soon as he notices Isabel, he stops dead in his tracks; we can see the conflict on his face: should he go back now before she realizes he's there, or should he continue on? Her music drifts up to him on the evening breeze, and he listens, his expression changing from troubled to delighted. His decision is made in that instant, and he hurries over to her.

Mike and Isabel (singing together): "—And it's love you bring; no, that I can't deny. With your wings, I can learn to fly, sweet young thing."

Startled, Isabel cuts herself off and twists around to see who is there. When she realizes it's Mike, she blushes and ducks her head, embarrassed. It's obvious she hopes he doesn't realize why she's singing that particular number. Mike walks around to squat on his heels in front of her, pointedly not sitting on her blanket without invitation.

Mike (sounding pleased): Hey, that was pretty good. I didn't know you could play.

Isabel (still embarrassed, this time by the praise): A little. Just for myself mostly.

Mike: So did Peter give you a copy of the music...?

Isabel (shaking her head): No, I heard you guys playing it often enough that I figured it out for myself.

Mike (double-take; he's really impressed now): Oh, you're one of those, huh?

Isabel (setting her guitar aside and unfolding her legs so she can move forward a little): What do you mean?

Mike: You know. (He reaches out and tugs lightly on her earlobe) A natural ear for music.

It's night-time on the beach with a full moon and crashing waves—a scene made for romance. With that one touch, sparks fly, and they are both suddenly, acutely aware that they are mere inches away from kissing, something they both want but think the other doesn't.

Isabel (in a breathy voice): Yes, I've always had a good ear.

Mike (glancing away before he gets caught staring at things he ought not stare at): Your ear's not the only good thing....(Clears his throat, but it doesn't keep his voice from cracking a little with his next words) Well, I gotta go. Gotta get to rehearsal. Yep. We're rehearsing tonight—maybe all night. I don't know, but we're getting started in just a few minutes—

He leaps to his feet and tries to make his escape while babbling, but Isabel rises gracefully and blocks his path, hushing the flow of words when she places her hand on his chest.

Isabel (looking at him solemnly): Why did you come out here if you knew you had a rehearsal in just a few minutes?

Busted!

Mike: I—well, I—uh—that is—

She's given him enough rope, and they both know it.

Isabel (bitter rather than accusatory): You don't have a rehearsal. You're running away from me again.

She is hurt and disappointed, which shows on her face. Mike is embarrassed but unsure how to recover without digging the grave even deeper than it already is; he decides to say nothing for the moment, gazing down at her with a solemn expression. She looks up at him unflinchingly, determined to settle a few things before she lets him escape.

Isabel: Fine. Go if you want to, but before you do, tell me one thing. You owe me that much.

Mike (somberly): What is it?

Isabel (she refuses to cry, but we can hear the threat of tears in her voice): Why do you hate me so much? Is it something I've done? Something I've said?

Mike (appalled that his actions could have lead her to think such a thing): Isabel, I don't hate you!

He grasps her shoulders and peers earnestly into her eyes so she can see his sincerity for herself. Without thinking about it, she curls her fingers around the lapels of his unbuttoned shirt.

Mike (desperately trying to convince her): You're smart, you're funny, you're pretty, and you like music. What's not to like about you? (self-mocking laugh) Aw, honey, I don't hate you at all. That's the problem.

Isabel (hopeful but not taking anything for granted; a soft, compelling voice): Then what is?

Mike (a little bitter himself at this point): I like you too much, and you're Peter's girl—that's the problem. I don't want either of you to feel like I'm trying to get between you.

She stares at him for a moment, digesting this revelation; exultation plays around the corner of her eyes, but she doesn't let it show quite yet. Things are still delicate, and she knows it. She lets go of his lapels and flattens her palms against his chest, establishing physical contact to strengthen the emotional link that's being formed.

Isabel (gently): I'm not Peter's girl. I know that's what he wants, but— (She gives an eloquent shrug). It's not what I want.

Mike stares at her, bewildered.

Mike: Then what's been going on with you guys the past couple of weeks? Peter sure thinks you're his girl!

Isabel (soft sigh): I know. I never meant to hurt him, but I thought you didn't like me. After what you did the night of the party, though, I had to wonder if that was how you really felt.

Mike (raising his hands in a warding off gesture): What I did? I didn't do anything. It was all Peter's idea—

Isabel (hushing him with a look): There's no way on earth Peter could have known I love lilies unless you told him, and Davy admitted you gave up your ticket so Peter could take me to the charity ball. I even know it was you who wrote those beautiful poems.

Mike (embarrassed): Aw, now how did you find out that?

Isabel (small, impish grin): I found an errand list Peter had written and noticed the hand-writing was different. But I wasn't totally sure until you admitted it just now. (Sobering) I know you've been avoiding me, and now that I know you were just trying to stay out of Peter's way, I admire you for it, but you needn't do it for my sake as well.

There's a long tense moment as they both digest what's been said. Isabel realizes that her first impression was right: Mike does like her, but he put on an act so he wouldn't risk hurting his friend. Mike realizes he was wrong about Isabel's feelings for Peter. For a moment, he's elated, but then he realizes it can't change anything as far as he's concerned.

Mike (quietly, not looking at her): I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings, Isabel.

Isabel (just as quietly): It's all right. Now that I understand your reasons, I can't fault you for it. You were just trying to help your friend.

Mike (still scrutinizing the sand): Yeah, Pete's my buddy. I couldn't do anything to hurt him.

He lets the implications of that remark sink in, and they do. Isabel backs a step or two away from him, regarding him sharply.

Isabel: You're telling me this doesn't change anything. (It's a statement, not a question) Even though you've just admitted you care about me, and now you know how I feel about you, you're still not going to let yourself get close to me, are you?

Stung by the pain in her voice, he looks up and lightly touches her shoulder.

Mike: Don't you get it? Peter's crazy about you, and he thinks you like him too. If we go in there and tell him we want to get together, he's gonna be heart-broken. Peter's one of my best friends. I can't hurt him like that. It's just not right, and I couldn't be happy with you if it meant betraying him. Our friendship's too important.

Isabel: What about me? My heart's shattered right now. It has been for weeks.

Mike (in just as much pain as she is): Mine too, but I can't think about that now—

Isabel (waving him silent and turning away): I know, I know. You won't do anything to betray your friend. (sighing) I don't blame you. He doesn't deserve to be hurt like that. He's so trusting.

She knows sacrificing her feelings for Mike is the nobler, more honorable thing to do, but that doesn't mean she has to like it.

Isabel (musing quietly to herself): Still....We're here now. Together. Couldn't we indulge ourselves just for a little while? Peter won't ever have to know.

Mike (conflicted; he likes the idea—boy, does he like the idea!—but he's worried about what might happen if Peter came along at exactly the wrong moment): I don't know....

Isabel turns back to him and moves closer, standing on her toes and slipping her arms around his neck. With a look that says he knows this isn't the smartest thing he's ever done but he's going to do it anyway, Mike puts his arms around her waist and pulls her close, eliminating any remaining distance between them.

Mike (softly but without a whole lot of conviction): We really shouldn't do this....

Isabel (just as softly): And after tonight, we won't.

He leans down to reach her, and they begin a series of tentative, exploratory kisses—the kind designed to figure out how to avoid bumping noses, how long each person can hold his/her breath, what the boundaries are, etc.—as they both tighten their arms around each other. Suddenly, Mike untangles himself from her long enough to scoop her up in his arms; he sits down on the beach blanket and settles her in his lap before cupping her cheek in one hand and guiding her back for another kiss, this one without any trace of shyness or hesitancy. The embrace grows deeper and more passionate as we fade to black.

Hey, you wanna be a voyeur, write your own story. Besides, this is a Monkees story—I just can't bring myself to write about any of the boys having...you know...S-E-X. Besides, Isabel is a nice girl, and Mike is a gentleman. None of that will be going on between them anyway, thank you.

We go to commercial.


	5. Chapter 5

Act Five. Scene One: Exterior. On the beach. The four boys and a large group of young people are playing volleyball—there are 6-7 people on each team this time—and having a good time. Isabel enters the scene, walking slowly as she watches the two teams lunging, diving and spiking the ball back and forth over the net. Her reaction gives away the moment she spots Mike; she smiles slightly and touches her fingers to her lips, immersed in fond recollection of the night before. Suddenly, her gaze shifts to Peter, and she frowns, the romantic bubble burst. Peter is exhibiting his usual good cheer, and the reminder of his affectionate, trusting nature is heaping hot coals on her head.

Isabel (to herself): I've got to tell him the truth.

She hastily retreats before she's spotted, moving down the beach to cloister herself behind a large rock formation. Once there, she begins pacing back and forth to relieve some of her agitation.

Isabel (quietly): Well, maybe not the whole truth. Mike's right. If I told him I'm falling for Mike, he'd be hurt...Of course, he's going to be hurt anyway if I tell him I only care for him as a friend, but maybe not as badly. Maybe if we give him a few weeks, then sort of ease into a relationship gradually, Peter won't suspect that we've liked each other all along.

She stops pacing long enough to flail her hands in a gesture of helpless frustration.

Isabel: What am I going to do? Any way I choose, somebody gets hurt! If I stay with Peter, Mike and I suffer. If I tell Peter the truth, all three of us will suffer, because Peter will be devastated, and Mike and I will feel guilty for being happy together....I'm not even sure we can be happy together if Peter gets hurt in the process...

She resumes pacing.

Isabel: Maybe he's just infatuated, and it'll wear off soon. If he loses interest in me, then Mike and I don't have to feel bad about seeing each other.

She pauses, then a brilliant smile lights up her face.

Isabel: That's it! We'll wait him out! If I keep our relationship more friendly than romantic, eventually he'll lose interest and fall for some other girl who does like him!

Satisfied at this solution to the problem, she leaves her hiding place and heads towards the group, who are still playing volleyball. This time, she doesn't try to avoid being seen, and as a result, Peter abandons his team as soon as he spots her and bounds over to her.

Peter: Hi! I didn't think you'd be out here today.

Isabel: Well, I finished the story I was working on sooner than I thought, so I came to see what you guys were up to.

Peter: Not much, just fooling around. (Pause) I'm really glad you could join us.

Peter hesitates, obviously wanting to say more but seeming reluctant. Isabel smiles encouragingly, waiting for him to continue.

Peter (turning shy): I'm also glad you've spent as much time with me as you have lately. I really enjoy being with you, Isabel. In fact—

Peter looks at the sand, struggling to find the right words to express his feelings while Isabel looks on warily. She thinks she knows where this is going, and it doesn't bode well.

Peter (all in a rush as if he's afraid he won't get it out otherwise): In fact, I think I'm falling in love with you!

There. He's said it. Now he beams at her, all his tender emotions plain to see on his face. Isabel turns to the camera with a stricken look and utters a short, wordless sound that is the non-verbal equivalent of "oh, shit!"

~*~*~

Scene Two: "Shades of Gray" starts up as we collapse time a bit and see what happens during the next few weeks. We see Peter and Isabel dancing at a club, going out to dinner together alone and at the beach by themselves. We see Isabel at the Monkees' pad playing cards with the boys, listening to them practice, occasionally singing or playing along on her guitar. She always accompanies Micky—never Mike—sometimes they stay serious, and sometimes they both throw themselves into the song with exaggerated fervor, dancing and gyrating until Davy, Mike and Peter stop playing and just stand there giving them aggrieved looks while they collapse against each other, giggling at their own antics. In every scene, Peter focuses his whole attention on her, letting his infatuation show while Isabel tries to respond in ways that won't hurt him, but won't unnecessarily encourage him either. Meanwhile, she and Mike have to maintain a careful distance. He no longer runs off every time she walks in the room, but it's clear that being near each other and not being able to express their feelings the way they'd wish is difficult and painful for them both. Micky is oblivious to the undercurrent of emotion between his friends, but Davy sees the longing in Mike and Isabel's eyes when they look at each other, and he notices the looks that pass between them when they think no one's watching. He also notices how scrupulously they avoid anything more than polite conversation and minimal physical contact, and the sympathy he feels for them is evident. He appears to want to help but has no idea what to do.

~*~*~

Scene Three: Interior. The living room, which is decorated for Christmas. Isabel, Peter and Micky are seated on the couch, Isabel between the two guys. Mike is sitting in a chair near Peter's end of the couch while Davy sits in a chair near Micky's end. The coffee table in front of them is loaded with empty boxes and munchies, and there are ribbons and pieces of wrapping paper piled up at their feet along with the former contents of said boxes. Peter grabs a medium-sized unopened present from the table and plops it in Isabel's lap, smiling with delight. It's obvious he's pleased with himself; the other three regard the present with consternation—they've been on the receiving end of Peter's gifts before—but no one warned Isabel what to expect beforehand, so she accepts it graciously.

Peter: I hope you like it. I picked it out all by myself!

Micky (with a pained look): That's what we were afraid of....

Isabel: I'm sure I'll love it.

She tears off the wrapping paper to reveal a hat box. Micky starts to giggle while Mike and Davy wait anxiously to see what sort of mess Peter's made this time. Isabel tugs off the box lid and lifts out a man's brown fedora, and she give Peter a questioning look.

Peter: It's a press hat! You know—like in the movies. See? It's even got a press badge.

Sure enough, there's a small white card reading "Press" stuck into the band on one side. Isabel smiles and nods while the others breath a sigh of relief. It's not the most romantic gift, but at least it's appropriate in a weird sort of way.

Peter (continuing his explanation): I thought you could use it since you're a reporter.

Isabel: It's perfect—and definitely something I wouldn't have bought for myself.

She puts the hat on, tilting it at a rakish angle, then smiles warmly at Peter.

Isabel: Thanks, Peter. I like it very much.

Meanwhile, Micky paws through the boxes and gift wrap, tossing pieces of it left and right as he searches for more presents.

Micky (dismayed): That's it? I don't get any more presents?

Mike (sarcastic): Well, Santa Claus hasn't come yet.

Micky sticks his tongue out at Mike, but further bickering is avoided by Isabel putting her hand on Micky's arm to get his attention.

Isabel (turning up the charm): Will you sing it for me now? You did promise—

Davy (warily): You promised what?

Micky: "Riu Chiu" is one of her favorite carols, and when I told her we knew it, she asked if we'd sing it tonight.

Davy (relieved): Oh, sure—that's easy enough!

Peter (jumping up from the couch): I'll get the lights!

As Peter crosses to the light switch, Micky, Davy and Mike rise and move to stand near the Christmas tree, which—after Peter hits the lights—provides the only illumination in the room. Their living room takes on a soft glow, and the silence becomes almost reverent. Isabel curls up on the couch, shifting so she can rest her arms on the back of it while she listens to them. They huddle a moment, agreeing on the key and time; Mike sketches the time with one hand, then begins singing, followed by Peter next, then Davy and Micky. This is a Moment—the haunting song combined with the magical lights from the tree and the serenity and good cheer that come from being with close friends on a special occasion turn this into one of those times that those involved never want to forget. At one point, Mike glances up and makes eye contact with Isabel—the moment becomes even more significant as they manage to tell each other volumes with just a look. (It doesn't help that Mike's wearing a black pull-over sweater, jeans and those black suede boots—he looks edible, and she wants a spoon.) The song ends, Peter moves to turn on the lights, and it's over. Isabel lets out a little sigh and faces forward again, her expression slightly dejected.

Micky (throwing himself on the couch beside Isabel): So what did you think?

Isabel (with a smile that has traces of lingering sadness in it): It was beautiful.

Further conversation is cut off by a loud rap on the side door that opens onto the beach. Before any of them have a chance to go see who it is, the door opens, and Pansy peeks in, grinning broadly.

Pansy (brimming with excitement): There you are! C'mon, you guys— they're about to set off fireworks on the beach! Hurry up! You don't wanna miss it!

Micky, and Davy grab their jackets and scramble to follow Pansy, enthusiastically nattering about the informal fireworks show. Peter stands up but waits for Isabel.

Isabel: I need to go next door and get my coat. I'll meet you out there, okay?

Peter (nodding): Okay.

He gets his jacket and follows his friends out. Isabel heads for the front door, not realizing that Mike has stayed behind.

Mike (low voice): Isabel, wait.

She jumps, startled, then whirls around, staring wide-eyed at him.

Isabel: Mike! I didn't realize you were still here.

Mike: Yeah, I wanted to see you alone for a minute if that's all right.

He waits for confirmation, and she nods hesitantly.

Isabel: Sure. What's up?

Mike moves to the window seat on the other side of the room, sits down and pats the cushion beside him. She accepts the invitation, sitting next to him but making sure to leave as much space between them as she can—no sense in tempting herself unnecessarily after all.

Mike (softly): I didn't want to give you your Christmas present in front of the others, especially Peter.

Isabel (just as softly): Oh, Mike, you didn't have to...

Mike (firmly): I wanted to.

He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a small box and holds it out to her. She stares at it wordlessly for a moment before taking it; as small as it is, there's only a few choices of what could be inside, and we see her fingers trembling as she tears off the wrapping paper. Mike watches her with a carefully neutral expression, but there's an underlying tension around his mouth that betrays him. It's obvious he's not certain how she'll respond to his gift. When the paper is off, Isabel is left holding a ring box; she pries open the lid and pulls out a simple gold ring, and she stares at it with a mixture of awe and joy.

Mike (in that endearing, hesitant way he's got when he tries to express his deeper feelings): I wanted to give you a friendship ring because even if we can't ever be anything more to each other, I want you to know that I'll always be your friend.

Isabel (barely above a whisper): I feel the same way.

She slips the ring on the third finger of her right hand, then looks up at him, smiling shakily. Their gazes lock and hold, and for a moment, the rest of the world fades away. They forget they're supposed to keep their distance for Peter's sake; they forget they're not supposed to acknowledge their feelings for one another. Mike reaches out, cups her face in his hands and pulls her into a kiss; she gives in without hesitation, slipping her arms around his neck and scooting as close to him as she can without actually crawling into his lap. Off to the left, we see the side door open, and suddenly Peter is standing there—Micky and Davy behind him—gaping in horror at the sight before him.

Peter (his expression and voice shattered): Mike! Isabel! What are you doing?

Startled and horrified, Mike and Isabel leap to their feet and step toward Peter, who backs away, holding up his hands in a warding off gesture.

Peter: How could you?

Isabel (pleading): Peter, you don't understand—

Mike: Pete, listen, we can explain—

Peter: Explain what? It seems pretty obvious, even to me! (He turns to face Isabel, his face twisted with pain, his tone accusatory) I loved you, and you cheated on me with one of my best friends, and you— (He rounds on Mike now) You betrayed me. I never want to see either of you ever again!

With that, he flees upstairs, and the bedroom door slams shut behind him, the bang deafening in the dead silence of the living room. Micky glowers at Mike and Isabel, folding his arms across his chest, clearly ready to side with Peter on this one. Davy hangs back and says nothing, his expression filled with pity.

Micky (also accusatory): And here I thought you two didn't even like each other very much!

Mike (sounding weary): Micky, it's a long story....

Micky (acidic): I think we've got the time.

Davy (finally stepping in as peace-maker): C'mon, Micky. Let's leave them alone for a minute, okay?

He grasps Micky's arm, but Micky wrenches it free and turns to Davy in amazement.

Micky (dumbfounded): Leave them alone? What—are you nuts? Why—?

Davy (grabbing Micky's arm again, this time a little tighter): Trust me, all right? C'mon—I'll tell you what's been going on.

They exit out the side door, leaving Mike and Isabel to stare at each other in mute amazement.

Isabel (recovering her voice first): Mike—I'm so sorry—I never meant for this to happen—

Mike (waving her silent): I know. Neither did I.

Isabel contemplates the floor for a moment, then looks back up at him with world-weary melancholy in her eyes.

Isabel (a statement rather than a question): We can't see each other anymore, can we. Not at all.

Mike (matter-of-fact): No. Seeing us together would hurt Peter even more, and I—I don't think I—

Isabel (finishing for him): We'd be miserable.

Mike (relieved that she understands): Yeah. We would.

She closes the distance between them, raises up on her toes and kisses his cheek; he closes his eyes and slips one arm around her waist, holding her there for a moment before releasing her and stepping back.

Isabel: Good-bye.

She crosses to the front door, not looking back.

Mike: Isabel—

She pauses with her hand on the doorknob and glances at him over her shoulder.

Mike: I'm still your friend.

Isabel: I know. Me too.

She opens the door, steps through and shuts it quietly behind her, leaving Mike standing in an empty room with only his regrets.

~*~*~

Scene Four: Yet another video sequence as we collapse time once again, this time to the tune of "Forget That Girl." We see Peter walking alone on the beach, looking like a puppy that's been kicked one too many times; Isabel approaches him, stretching out her hands in a supplicating gesture, clearly asking for him to listen, but he shakes his head and darts away. Back at the pad, Mike sits down on the couch next to Peter and starts talking to him, but Peter gets up and leaves the house. Next, Mike corners Peter in one of the bedrooms, but Peter covers his head with a pillow, and Mike walks out, defeated and looking miserable. At rehearsal, Peter stands as far away from Mike as he possibly can; at gigs, he's on the opposite side of the stage, and he refuses to look at Mike if he can help it. At first, Mike appears upset by Peter's consistent refusal to listen to him, but as time passes, he starts to get ticked off.

~*~*~  
Scene Five: Interior. The living room. Peter, Davy and Micky are seated at the table in the kitchen eating breakfast. Mike exits the upstairs bedroom and lopes down the stairs, headed for the kitchen. He drops into the seat across from Peter, who produces a newspaper and hides behind it, pretending to be engrossed. Mike gives him a look of pure exasperation and snatches the paper out of his hands.

Mike (frustrated and a little angry): Peter, man—you gotta cut this out. It's been almost a month, and you still won't listen to me. I keep trying to tell you it's not what you think—

Peter: I'm not listening!

He prompts plugs his ears with his forefingers and begins singing "Your Auntie Griselda" at top volume.

Mike (exploding): All right, I've had it!

He jumps up from the table, knocking his chair over in the process, wads up the newspaper, throws it to the ground and starts yelling so even Peter can hear him.

Mike: This has gone on long enough! I'm sick of this silent treatment. If this is how it's gonna be from now on, maybe I just better leave permanently!

He storms out of the house, slamming the door shut behind him, leaving Micky and Davy gaping in stunned silence while Peter waits until he's gone to unplug his ears and stop singing.

Davy (anxious): Micky, you go after Mike and try to calm him down. Hurry!

Micky (jumping up and running after Mike): Hurry—Yeah—Right, baby—

Once they're alone, Davy turns to Peter, giving him a stern look.

Davy (firmly): Mike's right. This has gone on long enough, and if it keeps up, you're going to tear the group apart.

Peter (indignant): Me? I'm not the one who stabbed his so-called friend in the back!

Davy (waving him silence): There are some things about Mike's side of all this that you should know.

Peter folds his arms across his chest, looking skeptical.

Peter (suspiciously): Like what?

Davy (leaning forward, his voice and expression earnest): Like that Mike and Isabel weren't going behind your back, man.

Peter (a rare outburst of petulance): Oh, yeah? Then how come they were all over each other on Christmas Eve?

Davy (growing exasperated): Because they're crazy about each other and have been since the day they met, but they've been trying to hide it because of you!

Peter sits back in his chair, stunned. Taking advantage of Peter's silence, Davy continues, blurting out the whole story in a rush before Peter can interrupt again.

Davy: Yeah, see, Mike says he fell for Isabel when he met her, but you saw her first, so that's why we all thought he didn't like her—he was trying to stay out of your way. I'm not sure how they figured out they liked each other, but Isabel says they both agreed that they couldn't act on their feelings because you said you were in love with her, and neither of them wanted to hurt you. She also says that Christmas Eve was an accident. They didn't plan to be alone together, and they didn't plan to kiss—much less have you walk in! It was just bad timing, you see.

Peter (still grudging): I'll say.

Davy puts a comforting hand on Peter's shoulder.

Davy (sympathetic): Look, man , I know it hurt seeing them, and I know you feel betrayed, but you gotta remember that they'd been hiding their feelings for months just to keep from hurting you.

Peter (reluctantly): How do they feel?

Davy: Neither of them has said it, but I think they're in love. Really in love.

Peter: Well, I loved her too!

Davy: I know. Mike knew it too, and he was willing to give up Isabel for you. If Christmas Eve hadn't happened, you would never have known how they felt. It was an accident, Peter. You saw how they treated each other before it happened; if Mike hadn't told me the truth, I wouldn't have guessed they cared for each other at all. And since then, they've stayed away from each other completely...Look, I'm going to ask you some questions, and I want you to answer with complete honesty.

Peter gives a hesitant nod, and Davy fires the questions at him, ticking off each one on his fingers.

Davy: Did Isabel ever tell you she loves you?

Peter (hating to admit it): No...

Davy: Did she ever let you kiss her?

Peter opens his mouth to reply, but Davy anticipates him.

Davy: Other than on the cheek.

With a look of chagrin, Peter shakes his head.

Davy: Did she treat you like a girl who was really crazy about you, or did she treat you like a friend?

Without waiting for an answer, Davy stands up, preparing to leave Peter alone so he can mull over this new information.

Davy: One other thing. Just remember everything Mike did to help you with Isabel even though he thought he was ruining his own chances. Is that the act of a back-stabber—or a true friend?

With that, he goes out the side door to the beach. Peter sits frozen in his chair, staring blankly into space. At first, his expression indicates that he's unwilling to accept what Davy has said, but eventually it softens as we fade into a flashback. We see Peter remembering Mike engaging in psychological warfare with Toto to rescue Peter and Micky from the Chinese spies; Mike being trounced by Ronnie Farnsworth at archery so Peter wouldn't look foolish in front of Valerie; Mike assuring Peter that he can play the harp despite what Zero says; Mike comforting him after Peter failed the computer-conducted job interview; Mike causing the computer to short out; Peter comforting Mike after Bernie Class cheats him out of $100; Mike and Peter high-fiving each other while playing "Look Out" at Millie's wedding reception; Mike and Peter weeping all over each other at the poor little rich boy's Christmas reunion with his aunt. Last, Peter remembers Mike giving him the charity ball ticket so he could take Isabel on their first date. As he remembers all these events, Peter starts to look more and more pitiful, and he starts to cry in typical Peter fashion.

Peter: Mi-i-i-ike!

Peter jumps up and runs out of the room, presumably in search of Mike.

~*~*~

Scene Six: Exterior. On the beach. Mike sits alone on a rock, staring out at the ocean. The waves are crashing, and seagulls are screaming overhead, but he seems wrapped up in his own little world. He is out sans hat, and the light breeze ruffles his hair, but—for once—he doesn't constantly smooth it down. Off to the right, we see Peter approach, his manner hesitant.

Peter (softly, shyly): Mike?

Mike doesn't respond, still immersed in his thoughts.

Peter (moving a little closer and speaking louder): Mike? Can I talk to you?

That breaks through the haze; Mike turns his head and gives Peter a long, sardonic look.

Mike (laden with sarcasm): That's a first.

Peter (shame-faced): I know...I'm sorry...

Mike shifts on the rock so he can face Peter, preparing to listen to him.

Mike (softening): What did you want to say, Pete?

Peter: Well, Davy told me the truth about you and—and Isabel. That Christmas was an accident, and you'd been hiding how you felt about her because of me.

Mike (non-committal; after what Peter's put him through for the past month, he doesn't feel inclined to make it easy on him): Uh-huh.

Peter: And then I started thinking about how you helped me with Isabel— the poems and the ticket and all—

Mike (still neutral): Uh-huh.

Peter: And—and I should have listened to you. Because if you were really trying to cut me out, you wouldn't have done all that stuff for me.

Mike: Well, I'm glad you finally realize that.

Peter (earnestly): I do! And I'm sorry I wouldn't speak to you all month and that I called you a back-stabber. (Pause) And dirty double- crosser. (Pause) And a low-down, lying, cheating son of a—

Mike: Okay, okay! I got the point the first time!

Peter: I shouldn't have said those things, 'cause they're not true. You were willing to give her up for me...I think—I think that makes you one of the best friends I ever had.

Mike (that's all he needed to hear): Well, I can understand why you were so upset. But you know I didn't mean to hurt you, Peter. That was the last thing Isabel and I wanted to do.

Peter: I know that now. And it's okay.

He gives that sweet smile and holds out his hand.

Peter: Friends?

Mike (with one of those rare wide grins): You bet, ol' buddy.

They shake hands, and the crisis is officially over. Mike scrambles off the rock, and they head back to the pad in companionable silence; Mike seems pleased that the matter has been resolved, but Peter's face still shows that he's troubled about something. Abruptly, he stops walking and catches Mike's arm to get his attention.

Peter (hesitantly): Hey, Mike—

Mike (stopping and regarding him curiously): What, Peter?

Peter: There's one other thing....

~*~*~

Scene Seven: Interior. The living room. The lights are off, and it is lit by a dozen or more candles scattered around the room, including a couple on the table positioned on the terrace with a dinner-for-two place setting. The room is empty, but there's a knock at the door, and Mike emerges from the upstairs bedroom wearing black tie evening wear and an enigmatic smile...(Hey, didn't anyone ever tell you saliva is bad for your keyboard? Wipe your chin and keep reading.) He heads for the door and throws it open to reveal Isabel standing there looking nervous and confused.

Isabel: Mike? What are you doing here? Where's Davy? I thought he wanted to talk to me about covering that band contest—

Mike (still smiling mysteriously; he's enjoying this): No, that was just an excuse Peter came up with.

Isabel (totally baffled at this point): Peter—? What—? Should I be here? Maybe this isn't such a good idea—

Mike takes her hand and pulls her into the room; she doesn't make it easy, and even after she's in the room, she appears ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

Mike (bemused patience): It's fine. Look, Peter and I are friends again—

Isabel (delighted): Oh, that's great!

Mike (continuing): Yeah, Davy told him what was going on since he wouldn't listen to me. Now everything's cool again.

Isabel (still not relaxing): But isn't this pushing it a little?

She waves her hand back and forth between them to illustrate her point.

Mike: It was Peter's idea.

Isabel (gaping incredulously): What?!

Mike: He still cares about you, Isabel, but he knows it'll never work because you don't share his feelings, and he said that it wasn't fair for us to be kept apart, so—

Isabel (finally smiling): So he had Davy lure me over here with some lame excuse—

Mike: Where you'd find me—and dinner—waiting instead.

Isabel: Oh, this is wonderful!

She launches herself at Mike, who catches her easily; she captures his head in her hands and pulls him into a toe-curling kiss. When they finally come up for air, Mike goes into one of his exaggerated expressions routines.

Isabel: Not being able to see you or talk to you all these weeks has been a stone drag.

Mike (teasing): Hey, that's my line—

Isabel: No matter who says it, it's still true. Remind me to thank Peter later.

Mike: Not like that, I hope.

Isabel: No, I'm saving that just for you.

A heart-shaped image forms, and as it grows smaller, we fade to black.

Roll end credits.


End file.
